


Steve Rogers and His Super-Duper Supernatural Support Group (and their varying adventures)

by Aegistic



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: AU, Captain America - Freeform, Capwolf, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Kinda, Lighthearted, Marvel - Freeform, Other, Werewolf, Werewolf Support Group, Werewolves, winter soldier - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-12
Updated: 2017-05-09
Packaged: 2018-02-20 20:34:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 9,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2442173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aegistic/pseuds/Aegistic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Captain America gets mauled by something monstrous in the Carpathian Mountains.  His friends just want to help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In Which Cap Gets Hurt and Needs a Ride

                Clint was lounging on the couch, recently restrung bow leaning against the armrest , and hands busily working the controls to the newest multiplayer game to come out for the newest systems that Tony had seen fit to install on the big screen in the common area.  He had a hearing aid and head set on and was happily shouting obscenities at his team mates.  They were in the middle of prepping for a boss fight and their healer had decided to complain about no one buying enough of their own health potions, so he had made a point to dump half the party's gold at the overpriced apothecary.  The tank thought it was hilarious and had guffawed loud enough to get the Healer's attention and she was on the verge of rage quitting, or at least was threatening to not heal anyone during the boss battle.  The bickering died out as the Tower systems over-rode the TV and Maria Hill popped up on screen.  She looked around the room, honed in on its sole occupant and scowled.  
  
              

"CLINT!" She barked.  "Where's Stark?"  
               

"Hell if I know.  Since SHIELD went under, he tends to not associate with the 'Avenger' Floors because of reasons.  Speaking of, whatcha doin' Mimi?"  He took off his head set and turned full attentions to Hill.  
               

"Steve went AWOL four months ago." Hill replied, gracefully ignoring Clint's choice in nicknames.

              

"Common knowledge, what else?"  Clint waved her off.

      

"We found him."

            

"Found?  He was lost? I was under the impression that Steve usually knows where he is."

           

"According to statements from Falcon, not recently."

           

"So, what, Amnesia?  Senility? His old man brain finally catching up to him?"

             

 "More like they got separated in the Carpathians and by the time Sam found him, he was ripped half to shreds by a bear.  I was told he quote "followed the screams" to find Steve."

 

 "Captain America lost a fight to a bear?  I doubt it.  The guy has probably punched out dinosaurs."

 

 "Clint, this is serious.  Sam needs an Extraction."

 

 "You really should have led with that." Clint chided as he slung his bow over his shoulder and headed to the elevator to get to the quinjet.

 

"Coordinates are waiting on the bird.  Bring him home alive or you  can stay in Romania."

 

"Harsh."  The doors to the Elevator closed and zipped Hawkeye off to the hangar.  He ran as quick a check on the bird as possible and was wings up before JARVIS had time to  bring up the requested flight pattern.

 

                The average flight time from New York to Bucharest was an average of 12 hours. The coordinates were a few hours more north and the quinjet made the 14 hour flight in 8.  Falcon had set up a rough shelter, following instructions during Steve's brief moments of conscious clarity and had his emergency beacon on.  Clint set the bird to hover over the spot and set down a platform that could be winched up remotely.  He followed shortly, repelling from the landing gear.

 

Sam eyed him, trying to remember the footage of the Avengers fighting the Chitauri in New York.  "You must be Cli-Hawkeye.  Cap talks about you.  You're the funny man."

 

"I try.  What, you aimin' to take over my title?"

 

                Sam snorted.  Steve stirred briefly and Clint hurried to his side with the med kit.  He was in bad shape, and Clint was expecting worse.  The super Soldier Serum had made quick work of the deepest injuries, healing them up from the inside so that they were much shallower, according to Sam.

 

"He's so pale."  Clint commented, rinsing the wounds with iodine and pulling out a field suture kit.

 

"Lost a lot of blood, I haven't been able to get him to eat or drink.  He was the one who pulled out the SAT phone and thought to call Hill.  He pretty much lost it after he dialed the number.  You guys took longer than I expected...where's the rest of the team?"

 

"Just me.  Everyone else was busy. S'all right. I'm the fuckin' cavalry."  Clint shot a needle of numbing agent into the cut and set quickly to work.  He didn't know how fast Steve's body metabolized drugs, and he didn't want Cap to wake up blind with pain and knock him sideways into a tree.

 

                It took the better part of two hours to close up the biggest gashes across Steve's arms and torso.  Another half hour of Clint and Sam carefully carrying him to the platform and a terrifying two minutes of the last light of the day fading and the woods suddenly coming to life with rustling around them.  Clint ran one last check on everything, making sure the quinjet was secured for the flight back to New York before easing up to altitude and slowly approaching cruising speed, painfully aware of the cargo he carried.  It was jarring, seeing Steve like that.  He was everyone's hero, whether they admitted it or not. There was something pure about the guy that drew everyone into him and made him a beacon.  He was a natural in just about every situation, and Clint was pretty sure maybe one percent of that was from the serum.  Steve was the kinda guy you followed into Hell, because he made it seems like the surest, simplest thing to do.  So a ripped up Rogers who had bled all over the wet fallen leaves in the Mountains north of Bucharest was upsetting.  Suddenly he wasn't this immobile rock of righteousness, he was a human, he was mortal.

 

"Clint are you listening?"  Sam asked, probably for the fifth time.

 

"Obviously not.  Also, thanks for speaking up. Also Also, hearing aid is on the other side, where the headset is.  FYI."

               

Sam gave him a quizzical look, but shifted his seat to the other side of Clint and started again, "How much farther?"

 

"About five hours to go.  You looking for an in-flight meal? Because I don't got those."

 

"Steve's running a fever."

 

"Alright, so we get there a couple hours ahead of schedule,"  Clint commented as he eased the throttle forward,  there was a gentle pop noise from outside the quinjet and a buzzer chimed for a few seconds before the cabin adjusted itself to

breaking the sound barrier. 

 

                A med team was waiting in the hangar and had swarmed Steve so effectively that Clint and Sam barely had time to tell them what they'd done to help.  They had to follow the squeaking gurney to the elevator and down to the med wing before either of them actually was able to get a word in edge-wise.  Sam shared what he knew about the attack, down to the snarling, the sound of the shield (which was strapped to his back for safe keeping) thunking into a tree and the absolute uselessness of the military issued lanterns that they'd been using to navigate through the dark, following a trail supposedly left by The Winter Soldier.  Steve's uniform was cut away and sent off to some lab on a floor of the tower to test blood, saliva, and hairs for some clue as to what kind of bear could incapacitate Captain America so violently.  Steve was wheeled into recovery, Sam and Clint followed, talking quietly between themselves, settling a schedule for guard duty.  It was going to be a long one.


	2. In Which Steve Re-Joins the World of the Living

Steve lolled his head from side to side, stretching out his neck muscles before even opening his eyes.  Everything ached, something smelled awful, and he swore he could hear Tony and Natasha mumble something about a bet.  He carefully rolled his shoulders, felt the familiar tug of an IV in his arm and a shooting pain from the muscles on the left and stopped.  He opened one eye, took in the pale blue walls of the room and the heavy white curtain and hesitantly peeked open the other one.  Natasha was on him in a flash, running a cool hand over his brow.

 

"Steve, Steve! Thank God."  She whispered, as she smoothed his hair back and ran her palms over his fuzzy cheeks.  The corner of his mouth quirked up into a half smile and the arm that wasn't tethered to a bag of some life giving fluid carefully reached up to stroke her cheek.

 

"Hey Tasha."  He croaked.  She cocked her head to the side and smiled at him.  "Where am I?"

 

"St. Jonathon's.  Clint brought you to the tower and then you were moved here.  Steve, Do you remember what happened?"

 

Steve scrunched his face up, "No.  I don't think so."

 

"That's common with traumatic injuries."  Tony chimed in.  From the sound of his voice he'd been lingering somewhere behind Natasha.  "Something big and hairy handed your ass to you."  Tony carefully rested a hand on Steve's good shoulder.  "We need to find it. I want tips."

 

"Tips?"  Steve asked.

 

"On how to bring you down.  You owe me a one on one."

 

"I don't hit Billionaires."

 

"You sure wanted to on the Helicarrier."

 

"That was forever ago, Stark."

 

"An Elephant never forgets."

 

"You're not an elephant."

 

"Nuance.  Anyways, you're gonna be down for the count, some of those tears were crazy."

 

"Tony-" Natasha warned.

 

"What, the man deserves to know how fucked up his body is."

 

"I can feel it.  trust me, I know."  Steve replied.  "I want to sit up, it's weird looking up at you like this."

 

Natasha made a face and Tony mimicked it.  "You can't, Cap."

 

"Why?"

 

"You have three lacerations running from your right armpit to your navel.  Clint and the Med team got them stitched up, but if you bend at all you're going to undo their work and have a miserable time."

 

"And one sick bite mark on your shoulder."  Tony added, less than helpfully.

 

Steve sighed.  The serum did a lot to keep his body hale and hearty.  He was grateful for that.  The first scrape he ever got back in the 40's after being transformed into the Super Soldier was a graze from a bullet.  That graze healed up literally over night, despite being just big enough for stitches. 

 

Natasha looked him over then glanced around the room.  "We should get going.  You'll have more visitors soon, but you need to rest-"

  
  
"I don't really-"

  
  
"You NEED to rest, Steve.  I can't stress that enough."  She cut him off.  A slender hand reached down and smoothed his hair back from his forehead.  "We'll be nearby."

 

The soft clack of heels on floor tiles signaled their retreat, punctuated by the closing of the heavy privacy door.  Steve was left alone with the ceiling panels and the whir of the IV pump delivering something into his system.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mostly this is MCU, after the events of the current Movies that are out. There will be Characters introduced from the comics though, namely some funtastic villains from the 90's


	3. In Which Bruce Stops By

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce Swings by to check on his friend.

A week after the incident and Steve was climbing the walls, figuratively.  He'd been threatened with being strapped to the bed enough times to actually keep him confined to it, but he wiggled and shimmied like a five year old told to sit quietly in church.  He tried to remind himself that it was a blessing that he was allowed to sit upright, it meant he could watch TV (Discovery and the marathon of ghost stories was his current favorite) and that he wasn't looking up people's noses when they came to visit him.  He'd tried drawing, but some genius had strapped his dominant hand down with an IV cord, and the quick muscle movements of sketching pulled on the needle in his arm something fierce.  So he was bed bound, super hearing catching snippets of Nurses squabbling about sponge baths, unable to draw, and eighty percent sure that the hospital room he was in was haunted (thanks Discovery channel).

Bruce visiting was a complete surprise.  From every interaction they'd had, Steve assumed that Doctor Banner hated hospitals and anything resembling hospitals.  What was better, by far, was that Bruce had managed to sweet talk the nurses into letting Steve stretch his legs.  So it was, that slowly (by Steve's standards, waaaaay too fast by the head nurse's) the pair of them sauntered the hallways of the hospital floor.  Steve kept a hand on the IV pole and pulled it along as it whirred and pumped fluids into him, Bruce strolled along next to him, casually, as if the pair of them were walking through central park.  He'd stop and wait patiently while Steve did push-ups against the wall that was hard to see from the Nurses Station, then strike up a conversation about nothing when someone got close to discovering Captain America doing more than he should.

"I really think that 'Angry Cat' is less angry, and more disgruntled."  He announced, while Steve, mid push-up, bounced away from the wall and expertly spun sideways into a plastic chair.  The orderly walked past them, casting a quick glance between the two as he bustled along his route. 

"I'm confused, I thought there was just 'Grumpy Cat'.  Now there's a grumpier one?"  Steve looked up at Bruce from his seat, a devilish grin crinkling his nose.

"There's a whole slew of internet cats.  Like 'Long Cat' and 'Nyan Cat'.  'Grumpy Cat' is just the current favorite of the internet."  He glanced around the corner the orderly had come from and slightly shook his head.

"I like Bub.  She's not grumpy or angry or long.  Just Bub."  Steve pulled the neck of the hospital gown away from his chest and peered down the neck hole.  His exercise hadn't ripped stitches, but they were sore and agitated.  "I'm ready to head back, if you are."

"Watching you is exhausting, so yes."  Bruce cracked a grin and offered Steve a hand out of the chair.  They made their way back to Steve's room at the far end of the floor at a much slower pace than they set out at, and Steve actually was grateful to get to sink back into his nest of warm blankets.  
  
They chatted amiably about cats and the internet, Bruce shrugging at half of Steve's questions because he didn't know the answers.  There was a knock on the door and a nurse came in, her cheeks blazing red.   Steve and Bruce looked up at her and her blush deepened.

"I-I'm sorry to interrupt, but Sir, Captain Rogers, I mean, I've been told I can detach your IV so you can take a shower."  Bruce watched her, her infatuation with the bed-ridden hunk he called friend was sickeningly adorable.  She was twisting a white sneaker clad toe into the linoleum.

Steve lit up.  He'd been begging for a shower for the last three days.  He'd gotten a sponge bath shortly after coming out of surgery, there was a good deal of the Carpathian mountains to be scrubbed off, but since then hadn't really had a good scrub. 

"Great!  Take that thing off me, wrap up the tubes and don't get between me and the shower."  Steve beamed.

Bruce snickered and the nurse blushed deeper.  "You won't be able to move your arm, and we don't want you to get soap in your stitches...."  Bruce's snicker turned into a snort.

"I'll be fine.  I'm flexible."  Steve replied.  The nurse stammered for something to say, but couldn't quite articulate that he needed a shower buddy without imagining getting to be said buddy and nearly swooning.

"I'll keep him out of trouble."  Bruce offered, the most amused of expressions resting on his face.  "You'd better get him ready for the bath or he'll pull that IV out himself."

The nurse looked relieved and upset, but she detached the drip line from Steve, wrapped the dangly bits in plastic wrap and tape and excused herself from the room.  Steve slid off the bed, gave himself a minute before standing up, then shed the hospital gown and was half way out of his sweatpants before getting into the bathroom and shutting the door.

"Leave it unlocked in case you need help."  Bruce dutifully called after him.  His reply was a grunt and the sound of bare feet slapping against the tile of the bathroom floor.

The water hissed out of the shower head, ice cold and with barely any water pressure.  Steve waited impatiently for the water to warm up, a towel barely slung around his hips.  A minute passed.  Then two.  Then five and finally the freezing water had reached a temperature deemed warm enough by the Captain.  Steve dropped his towel and ducked his head under the water, humming with pleasure at the simple joy of it.

There was a small plastic bottle of shampoo and a matching conditioner, a razor, and a wash cloth.  Not to mention a handy plastic bench that folded down, in case he got too tired.  Steve wiggled under the water, turning so that each part of him got wet and twisting when a limb got too cold, or a butt cheek too toasty.  He ran his left hand through his hair, slicking it back and bobbing to some tune only he could hear.  He briefly sang a few bars, remembered that Bruce was sitting outside and stopped.

He tossed his head, sending droplets of water flying and his hair out of place.  The shampoo bottle had a twist off cap and Steve sighed.  His right arm was useless, the muscles in his hand tired and his elbow held straight by the plastic casing around the IV.  He grabbed the bottle in his left hand and bit the cap, twisting the bottle.  He bit down too hard and the smooth plastic cracked between his teeth.  Startled, he dropped the bottle and it rolled merrily across the floor and under the door.  Steve's shoulders slumped.

Bruce looked up from his book as the shampoo bottle rolled to a stop at his feet.  He bit back a laugh at the very disgruntled whining coming from the bathroom.   He waited while Steve had a discussion with himself, apparently weighing the pros and cons of calling for Bruce's aid (he wasn't the only one with enhanced senses).  Finally Steve gave a loud huff and called out.

"Bruce. Help."  The voice coming from the shower sounded mopey and very undignified.  Bruce grabbed the shampoo bottle and knocked politely on the door before opening it.  He didn't peer into the bathroom, just politely waited.

"Lose your shampoo, Cap?"  Steve could hear the smile.

"You have it in your hand.  Just bring it to me....please."  Bruce opened the door enough to squeeze through and shut it behind him to keep the warmth from escaping.  The hospital room was much colder than the bathroom in its current state of steam room for Steve.  "You know, anyone else and this would actually be really awkward."  Steve said, taking the bottle from Bruce.

"How do you mean?"

"I've been naked for science before."

"What about Tony? Isn't he a scientist?"

"Stark's a futurist.  Could you take the lid off please?  I can't get it to unscrew."  Steve faced Bruce and it was obvious that he wasn't shy, at least, now that he had made up his mind not to be.  He perched his useless right hand on his hip and held out the bottle with the left.  Despite not being shy, he was clearly embarrassed as evidenced by the full body blush, though from being naked or helpless, Bruce couldn't quite tell.  He rolled up his sleeves, undid the shampoo cap and poured a glob into his palms.

"What are you doing?  I just needed help with the lid!"  Steve yelped as Bruce advanced towards him.

"You dropped a bottle of soap, Rogers.  Clearly you can't be trusted with something as precious as washing the golden locks of America."

Steve stopped backing away from Bruce and crossed his arms across his chest.  "Did you just crack a joke, Banner?"

"Let me wash your hair.  It'll be way more satisfying than trying to do it yourself."  Bruce retorted.  "Trust me, I'm a Doctor."

"When you say it like that, I really don't want to."  Steve laughed nervously.

"Sorry, I guess I'm really only good for one witty quip a day."  Bruce shrugged.  "Seriously though, let me help.  If we work together you'll probably stop smelling like a mountain hobo."

"I do not smell like a mountain hobo."

"Yeah Steve, you kinda do."


	4. In Which Steve gets released from the Hospital

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve gets a hot dog at the end

Sharon had squeaked away from SHIELD quite expertly. A lot of her colleagues went to the FBI or CIA, she even tried that herself. Ultimately working under the government's thumb was something that didn't sit right with her and she rejected the CIA's job offer. She was contacted by Natasha weeks after SHIELD's fall and they quickly picked up doing spy work together. A mafia bust here, squashing a drug deal there, nothing ever too large, nothing ever too much for just the two of them. Just enough to remind people that there were people working in the shadows to stop the ne'er do-wells and uphold the good.

She was finishing a workout when Natasha called. Nothing big, nothing serious (according to her), "Just bring a set of scrubs and meet me two blocks south of St. Jonathon's" and then she hung up. Sharon, usually up for some mischief and probably more trusting than she should have been, grabbed a pair of scrubs, a 9mm, a spare magazine and hit the streets. She pulled into a parking garage and slipped into the alley, easily spotting the red head. Very easily. Natasha wasn't even trying to be sneaky in her neon green running pants and black puffy vest.

"What-?" Sharon started, trying to decide if she needed to punch the Russian or not. Natasha cut her off with a smile.

"I've got a friend we're busting out of the hospital." 

"A friend or a "friend"?"

"Just a friend."

Sharon quirked an eyebrow.

"Change into the scrubs, I've got a name tag I lifted off a nurse on a smoke break. How do you feel about the name "Margret"?"

"I'm partial to it." Sharon responded, ducking behind the alley's dumpster to change. Natasha pulled out her phone and sent off a text to someone.  
A black coupe pulled up just as Sharon was lacing up the white sneakers she'd brought along. The window rolled down and Natasha jogged over and took a bag from the goateed and obviously angry occupant of the car. She waved him off and he peeled away, tires screaming on the asphalt.

"Who was that?"

"Tony Stark."

"What did he give you?"

"Clothes."

"And he had to cuss you out about it?"

"Yup."

"Didn't you work together?"

"He's an asshole." Natasha shrugged, but her spirits were high. She grinned to Sharon and linked arms with her, leading them out of the alley and towards the hospital. 

Security at the hospital was surprisingly lax, Sharon thought as they breezed into the atrium and headed nonchalantly to the elevators. They rode it past the trauma ward, shared it with a Doctor for a floor, and then they rode alone up to the 7th floor, which was apparently the long -term stay floor, if the cushiness of the hall was any indicator. The nurses here were kind and easy going, there was an over-all sense of relaxation, totally different from the hustle and bustle of the trauma floor that they caught a glimpse of. 

Natasha led the way to the end of the hall and pulled Sharon up to a computer station that separated the two end rooms. Across from the door on the left was a stairwell. "Sit here, look busy. When the alarm goes off, head to the nurse's station. Keep them from coming this way for at least two minutes, more if you can."

Sharon nodded, sat at the computer and swiped the nurse's badge she was wearing into the computer, mumbling an apology to "Margret" for the heap of trouble she was about to be in. She perused charts for a good five minutes, reading about one patient's ridiculously low potassium levels and ensuing heart problems, and another person's malfunctioning kidneys. She was half-way through a report on double compound fractures and "prone to blood clots" when the alarm in the end room went off. She slid off the stool she'd been sitting on and headed to the nurse's station, intercepting an intern.

"I just checked on room 709. The IV is going nuts."

"Ok?" The intern responded, trying to place the nurse's face he was talking to. She seemed familiar enough, though he knew a lot of blondes.

"Help me grab a new one for the patient, so she doesn't have to sit there listening to the alarm forever."

"Sure." The intern agreed, loud noises and lack of sleep over riding the fact that Sharon had mis-gendered the patient. They made their way to the nurse's station, and Sharon let the intern go on to the closet of spare IV pumps and gauges. She checked her watch. it had been two minutes, there wasn't any shouting or commotion. She could buy another three if she had to.

"He's a patient man." She heard the head nurse say to another nurse who was sipping a mug of tea. Sharon leaned against the counter, acting like she was reaching for a pen.

"Must be. Didn't his lady-friend come by to visit though?" The alarm at the station went silent and the nurses exchanged a look.

"You don't think?" One asked, her eyes twinkling.

"Wasn't she a spy though? Or KGB? I can't remember. He'd never go for her, wouldn't be right."

"That was the heart monitor, though, right?" Sharon asked, grabbing a pen and testing it on a sticky note. "They probably did."

"Where'd you come from, dearie?" The head nurse asked, noticing Sharon for the first time.

"Downstairs. Needed a spare IV pump. Your Intern is getting it for me."

"Then what...?" The alarm for 709 stayed silent.

"You didn't use the intercom to check if your patient was Ok? You just assumed he was banging his gal-pal?" 

The nurse's bolted from the station and headed down the hall to a very empty room 709. Sharon sauntered away from the station and headed for the elevators. The doors closed behind her as the intern walked past the nurse's station with the ne IV pump and pole. She smirked and rode the elevator in silence.

A pair of squad cars rolled up to the hospital entrance as Sharon was leaving. They took no notice of the nurse done with her shift as they bolted inside. Once Sharon was a half block away she ducked into an alley and crossed to the other side of the street. When she got to the alley that lined up with the parking garage she jogged to Natasha and the towering blonde she was with.

"Your friend?" Steve and Sharon asked Natasha in unison. Steve laughed. Sharon scowled.

"Our ride." Natasha amended.

"No." Sharon crossed her arms across her chest. Steve followed the movement with his eyes, then looked away.

"Yes." Natasha smiled. She was carrying the bag that the clothes Steve was wearing had come in. 

"No." Sharon repeated.

"Please?" Steve joined in.

"Call Stark." Sharon offered.

"No." Natasha laughed.

"Why is this important to you Natasha?" Sharon asked.

"Because I told Steve we'd go get real food."

"She did say that." Steve added, less than helpfully.

"You're wasting time, Sharon. We should get away from here before they start looking for him," Natasha reasoned.

"Couldn't he have just asked to be released?" Sharon snapped.

"This was more fun," Natasha pouted.

"You are insane," Sharon muttered. "This way."

"Thank you." Steve whispered.

Sharon waved him off and led the way to her car. 

They stopped half-way on the drive to Stark Tower at a hot dog cart. They lounged against Sharon's car, Natasha was finished and Sharon was picking poppy seeds off the hot dog bun she hadn't eaten. Steve was plowing through his fifth dog, three more were lined up waiting for him.

"Are you busy Friday night?" Natasha asked Sharon, watching her attack on poppy seeds.

"That's a full moon, terrible night for spy work." Sharon responded, biting her lip as she carefully and methodically plucked seeds.

"I know that. I was thinking more along the lines of going out. Club, dancing, loud music, drinking. You do that kind of thing, right?" 

"Sure, I do the drinking part."

"Great. There's a club on west 38th. It's a popular one, Dazzler had one of her first shows there when she was getting started, they renamed the place after her. Meet there at 11." Natasha said, taking the hot dog bun away from Sharon. 

Steve balled up the wrapper for hot dog number five and started in on hot dog number six with a satisfied grunt.


	5. Girl's Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sharon and Natasha have a good night.

The heavy bass drummed in Sharon's ear, Natasha was sliding a hand up her arm and they were twisting in rhythm to the beat. She was lost in the heat and the changing lights of the dance floor at The Dazzler. The darkness wrapped around them and they were adrift in the sea of people who were out in droves, even more-so on this Friday night. The DJ shouted something about Full Moon Fever, and Sharon just blurred it into her information on nightclubs in Manhattan. The song smoothed out into a different number, the volume increased and the crowd shouted, pressing against Natasha and Sharon as they danced in the wave of people. The swarm jumped, they jumped, the swarm shimmied left, they rolled with it, always touching just slightly, enough to not lose each other, enough that it was ok to break away if someone worthy enough showed up to dance with, enough that they could just dance with each other and stop caring about being spies for a few minutes.

Sharon rolled her neck and turned around, bumping against a shirtless college freshman who was too young for her, but built to some kind of exact specifications, specifications that Sharon thought only one person was remotely capable of. He watched her for a sign of invitation, she reached out for him and he slid up against her. His naked skin grazed against her exposed midriff and she twisted to let it happen again. Natasha danced at her back, shouting something in Russian at her, but Sharon wasn't overly interested. She liked getting lost briefly on the dance floor, liked the music becoming part of her, flowing through her and controlling her. Sure the guy dancing with her was far too young and brunette for her tastes, but in the moment, in the heat and the undulations of the rhythm, who gave a shit? Sharon closed her eyes and rolled against Natasha's back. The red-head turned and pulled Sharon away from the college boy who stepped away with a feigned look of disappointment before immediately settling in with a crowd of girls his age. Natasha slung an arm around Sharon's neck and pulled her in close enough to be heard.

"Drinks. Vodka. Let's go." She turned to head off the dance floor and pulled Sharon along behind her. They wove their way through the crowds and Natasha shoved someone to make room for both of them at the bar. Natasha ordered for both of them and Sharon kept moving slightly in time to the music.

"Having fun?" Natasha asked, handing her the first of three shots. Sharon tossed the shot back and laughed.

"I don't think I've actually gone out and just had fun in years."

"But you're so young. You should cut loose more often."

"Or what, end up stuck in a block of ice?" Sharon took the last two shots at the same time.

"So you are still thinking about him."

"No. I am very much not."

"Good. Can't have you distracted."

"From what?" Sharon half shouted over the bass from the newest song in the rotation.

"Work." Natasha replied as she signaled for three more for each of them.

"What work? Did you drag me out here and get me drinking before a job?" Sharon leaned into Natasha to be heard without being overheard. "Are you casing this place?" Natasha laughed.

"Nothing of the sort. This place sparkles like its namesake." She pulled Sharon in closer. "SHIELD is back." Sharon blinked and pushed away from Natasha slightly.

"No, it isn't, unless you've got some underground..." Natasha laughed again and handed Sharon a shot.

"You have a job if you want it. No more busting the petty stuff. Real, actual work in the name of good and humanity and all that other bull shit that SHIELD and the Avengers have represented."

"Neat." Sharon said, mouth to shot glass. Natasha laughed again. "When do I start?"

"Tomorrow morning. Star-Avenger's Tower." Sharon blushed and threw back her drinks in quick succession before standing up and dragging Natasha back to the dance floor.


	6. Steve's Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Steve doesn't have a good night.

The tower was a welcomed comfort after plain walls and sterile smells, it had been for the last two days.  The main room was a mish-mash of everyone.  Hand weights on the table next to a comic book, a red cape draped over the couch, a half assembled gauntlet on the coffee table surrounded by empty red bull cans.  It smelled like coffee and gin, burnt grilled cheese and spilled tomato sauce from a spaghetti night that was probably not as rowdy as Steve would expect. It was like everyone had a tiny piece of themselves invested in the building and it made Steve not feel lonely, even though no one was home except for him.

"Captain Rogers."  JARVIS interrupted Steve's silent reflection.  "Your room has been finished." 

"That was quick."  Steve responded to the A.I.  He'd been sleeping in a spare room off the common area, Tony called it the 'Room for People who get too Blitzed at my Parties' and it did have a certain atmosphere of regret to it.  Now Steve was about to get his own room in a different part of the tower.  He was curious and hesitant, not sure how to feel about such a gracious gift when he had been day dreaming about an apartment of his own in Brooklyn.

"Indeed. If you'd get into the elevator, sir."  JARVIS said.

Steve followed instructions and chatted with the A.I. amiably for the ride. The elevator doors opened three floors above the common area. 

"Just follow the lights sir."  JARVIS said before there was an audible whirr of the computers in the tower redirecting JARVIS's attention.  Lights in the base boards lit up in a festive red white and blue that blinked down the hall and around a corner. 

"Classy."  Steve smirked as he followed the lights.  They ended at a solid oak door that opened with a mechanical whirr once Steve pulled on the handle.  The furnishings inside were modest, for what Steve could only assume Tony's tastes were.  The bed was enormous, there was a couch, book-shelves and a desk with a computer and a book that was wrapped up with a bow on it.  Steve moved to the book and read the scribble on a sticker that was part of the wrapping.

"Dad said you used to draw.  Knock yourself out. -Stark" 

"Cute."  Steve said to the room and pulled the wrapping from the sketch book.  It was plain and sleek and bound in brown leather.  The pages were smooth and made of the whitest paper Steve had ever seen.  He felt his heart speed up thinking of what to draw first, not wholly wanting to draw anything in the book for fear of ruining it.  He set the book down on the desk and explored the rest of the room.  The bookshelves held a very thorough set of Encyclopedia Britannica and the last 50 years of National Geographic and Time.  The rest of the shelves were empty, either waiting to be filled or to stay empty, depending on Steve staying or not.  Thick navy blue curtains were pulled across the enormous picture windows.  Steve's room faced mostly east, he deemed that the curtains would be a blessing for those early mornings when he didn't want the sun engulfing the entire room.  He hunted around for a way to pull them open, a button, anything so he could see the view of the city beneath.  He found a remote in the bedside table and pushed button with a picture of curtains on it.  The room responded with the noise of gears moving the curtains into a panel hidden in the wall.  The sun was slowly sinking on the opposite side of the tower covering the city in a warm orange glow.  Steve nodded and sunk onto the couch and closed his eyes to rest.

 ***

His chest was on fire.  It itched and pulled and maybe if he could scratch it enough he wouldn't have to wake up completely. It felt like his stitches were pulled so tight that the wounds on his chest were going to rip open.  He pawed at the burning sensation through his shirt.  The tearing of fabric finally spurred him into complete consciousness which Steve immediately regretted because everything ached.  Not the tingly ache of a healing body but the deep throbbing ache of something being horribly, horribly wrong.  He tried to sit up from the couch but his back spasmed and forced him to the floor.  He brought himself to all fours and tried to shout for help, but his throat was thick with spit and tongue and Steve forgot how to use words as his body convulsed violently, sending him sideways into the coffee table, shattering it.  He writhed in pain, the snapping of bones filling his too sensitive ears.  He wasn't sure if he had simply hoped for some sign that he was just dreaming all of this, but his hands clawed at the broken wood beneath him, literal claws were at the ends of his gnarled and changing fingers, fingers he could barely make out through the searing pain in his skull that blurred his vision.  His teeth fell noiselessly into the plush carpet of the room and his tongue worried at the new, sharper teeth that took their place. He managed a noise which was more roar than shout and the pain ebbed just long enough for him to scramble to the window and catch his reflection before slipping away entirely as some other sensation of himself snapped into place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters at once! What lucky ducks you all are!
> 
> These take place on the same night (hopefully it is very clear that it's a full moon, Sharon made a point of telling Nat that it was a full moon, so, yes?) Any how...I hope it was enjoyable for you lot. I'm off to think very very hard bout which direction I want to take this in.


	7. In which Steve's Night turns into Morning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A very special and loving thank you to my beta readers who help me with remembering to use commas and for putting up with me begging them to read my writing. You rock and your help is always always appreciated <3 <3

There's a feeling one has when they start to wake up, of not quite awake, still lucid, still vividly aware of whatever dream universe they were just in.  Somewhere in between lives.  This place is where everything true about a person sits, waits, and never really gets to see the light.  It was here that Steve was clinging desperately as a siren roared to life somewhere nearby and faded almost as quickly. He held tight to the subconscious as a cold wind wafted its way up his thigh.  There was something about the dream he'd been having, flashes of splintered wood still blinking behind his closed eyes, that he didn't understand.  Another siren sounded nearby and Steve fought to stay half asleep, to remember the dream of running and metal scraping against metal.  He shivered, moving just enough to feel gravel scrape against his skin.  Something deep inside him told Steve to stay down, to stay asleep, because every time he started to wake up feeling like this, something terrible had happened.  The first time he woke up in a staged room in a government facility in New York in the 21st century, more recently he'd been half dead, and the life he was starting to get used to had crumbled at his feet.  Staying asleep was really in his best interest most of the time.  He curled up into himself for warmth, ignoring the cold gravel that dug into exposed skin and waited to fall back asleep so he could wake up on the couch where he had fallen asleep under the rising light of the full moon.

The sound of metal boots thunking against concrete and the minor seismic jolt that they caused rallied Steve awake, and he slowly opened one bleary blue eye to catch most of his reflection in one of Stark's boots.

"Yeah I found him....No, do NOT call Fury, this is Avengers business... well you can tell Clint that he can-Rogers?"  There was a whirr of gizmos and gears as the face plate lifted away and Tony stared down at him.  "You awake down there?"

"How can I not be, with all the noise you make."  Steve grumbled and shivered, finally feeling the full chill of the morning.

"Oh good, the Brooklyn attitude is still intact.  So, Sparky, you want to tell me what's going on?"

Steve very slowly and carefully sat up.  He was fully aware that he was nude, in an alley somewhere, and that Tony Stark was very, very unhappy with something.  "We're in an alley."

"Yes, good, ten points to Gryffindor, what else."

"I'm freezing."

"You're naked."

"Stop staring."

"Kinda hard not to.  What else?"

"I don't… know?"  Steve looked around for something to cover himself with, but saw nothing more than the stack of crates he'd been behind.  "I really have no clue."

Tony flashed a somewhat wicked grin at him.  "Nothing, you don't have any possible idea or explanation for being naked in an alleyway?  None?"

"Sleep walking?"

"I can guarantee you that you were not asleep."  Tony said, his smile falling into more of a scowl. "JARVIS, be a dear and send that package I prepared to my location."  

"On its way, sir."  JARVIS replied.  

Steve ran a grubby hand through his hair and scratched at the base of his skull, a full body blush creeping up on him the longer he sat.

"So… I'm going to tell you something that you aren't going to like."  Tony said after a moment of silence.  "Well, maybe you'll like it, I'm not sure-How do you feel about dogs?"

"Dogs?"  Steve asked, not entirely sure where Tony was going with his current train of thought.

"You know what, never mind, my package is here."  There was the sound of jets hushing and the metallic thunk of a Stark-bot landing behind Steve.  He turned around and stood up to face the numbered robot and it held out a black briefcase.  JARVIS's voice came through the speakers on its chest.

"For you, Captain."

"Thanks."  Steve took the case and opened it, a pair of socks rolled out and bounced against his leg.  

Dressed and confused as ever, Steve walked with Tony, Iron Man suit and all, back to the tower.  Tony insisted they stop briefly for a coffee and took care of managing all the people snapping photos and asking for autographs. Steve was largely unnoticed (to his relief).  It was only a few blocks walk to the tower, there was a crew outside replacing a large panel of glass and Stark Industries robots inside doing some welding on the elevator.  Steve shot a glance at Tony, hoping for some kind of explanation, but Stark wasn't showing any sign of interest in what was going on around them.   The rode the elevator that wasn't being worked on to the general AVENGERS ONLY area of the tower in silence.   

The doors opened to a one hell of a sight.  There was an Iron Man sized dent in the floor, cracked stairs that led to a cracked pool table, and a leather couch that was shredded down the middle with stuffing pouring out of it. Clint was digging for something behind the bar counter, quiver giving away his location.

"What..." Steve started, but couldn't quite finish.

"You."  Tony said, stepping out of the suit and surveying the destruction.  "Me a little bit, but mostly you."

"I don't..."  Steve took a hesitant step forward.

"Understand?"  Clint offered from behind the bar, poking his head up.

"Yeah."   Steve stumbled towards the couch and sat down as far from the carnage of fluff as he could.

"Well, imagine being in my position."  Tony said, inspecting his suit.  "You damn near shredded the jets."

"You keep saying I did this, but you're not giving me anything else.  What happened?"  Steve half shouted.

"JARVIS, be a love and make a puberty joke for me while showing Steve the footage from last night."  Tony said dismissively as he sat down and began to dismantle one of the legs on the suit.

The TV flickered to life, a spattering of pixels missing from a damaged corner, but relatively unharmed.

Steve sat in silence, watching the recording of him lying down on the couch in his room. The AI sped forward the recording by a handful of hours, and Steve watched himself with detached fascination tinged with horror writhing, breaking tables, and changing into something monstrous.  The furry, hulking figure that was Steve paced the room, charged the glass several times and finally left the frame.  JARVIS switched to a different camera feed which showed where he went, oak door splintered and spread down the hallway.  The creature charged down the hallway, lights started flashing as JARVIS's intruder protocol triggered.  The elevator door opened, and it ran into the empty box.  The elevator feed showed the creature pacing and clawing up the electronics box.  There was a shake and the elevator plummeted three floors (according to the LED display over the doors) and opened.  

JARVIS switched feeds again and Steve watched Iron Man tackle the beast as he bolted out of the elevator.  The damage in the common area made more sense as the fight unfolded.  Eventually, Iron Man wrestled the thing back into the elevator, where it climbed out through the access panel on top and disappeared from the surveillance feed for five minutes before reappearing in the lobby and breaking through the glass and setting out on the streets of Manhattan.  Additional footage scrounged up from traffic and security cameras showed blips of Steve's night as he roamed the city, some cameras he passed several times, stopping to sniff the area before heading out of sight again.  

Eventually Steve looked away from the television and up at Tony who had stopped fiddling with his boot and was standing nearby.

"Did I hurt anyone?"

"Besides Mark 47?  Not that we've found.  No reports, no hospitalizations.  Clint followed you for a while until you caught onto him, but it seems your reign of terror is limited to here."

"Oh. Good."  Was all Steve managed to say.  

"Hey, cheer up," Clint said. "Being a werewolf isn't the end of the world."

 

 


	8. In Which Steve goes to the Doctor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony knows of only one man in New York who might have answers. He's just a little...Strange

"No." Steve said after regarding Clint for a full minute.

"N-no?" Clint said. "What?"

"I'm not a werewolf." Steve said, crossing his arms over his chest.

"I feel like there is ample video evidence to the contrary." Tony said from where he was crouched over his boot.

"Werewolves mean magic and there's no such thing." Steve said with feigned certainty.

"What, do you want to go to a Doctor? You just got out of the hospital." Clint said, gesturing towards the hospital with a broken bottle.

"Exactly. They ran all sorts of tests and anything like, what, Lycanthropy, would have shown up." 

"Not exactly," Tony drawled. "You had to be stabilized here first. And, Steve, I hate to tell you this, but you're Captain America. The last time someone had your blood it was put to very bad uses. You're pretty stupid if you think I'd let anyone take blood samples at a public institution."

"Ignoring the fact that you are treating me like your property-"

"Howard -"

"Doctor Erskine, and if there was blood drawn for laboratory testing how would anyone know what to look for? This isn't like a cartoon where little wolf shaped blood cells show up and you can tell there's something wrong."

"That sounds like you're not denying there's something wolfy about you."

"I'm not a werewolf, and unless you can take me to a Doctor who can confirm the contrary, I'm inclined to continue not being a werewolf." Steve said and uncrossed his arms.

"Strange." Tony said, his face lighting up slightly.

"It's perfectly normal to think of yourself as not a werewolf, actually." Clint added, stepping out from behind the bar.

"Not what I meant, Robin Hood. Get in the car," Tony said with a snort.

"I get to come along?" Clint asked.

"You won't shut up about it if you don't."

"You know me so well." Clint smiled at Tony and grabbed Steve by the elbow, hoisting him from the couch and led him towards the elevator.  
They drove out of Manhattan and fifteen minutes into Greenwich Village. Steve caught the name "Bleeker" on a street sign as they turned corners too fast in one of Tony's zippy little cars. They parked out front of a very misplaced building nestled in China town. It had a single enormous round window that overlooked the south side of the street and several smaller windows that were all curtained. Steve and Clint piled out of the car and onto the sidewalk. The smell of sweet and sour sauce enveloping them. 

"Do you smell that?" he asked Clint who was sniffing the air as hungrily as he was.

"Yeah, smells like I'm having Chinese for lunch." 

"Go to the one on the right," Steve pointed to a dimly lit storefront that had battered red paper lanterns hanging around the outside of it. Across the street was another eatery, with large bright windows and lime green paint trimming the windows. A neon sign flashed an ad for Kirin beer. 

"Why? Have you eaten there before?"

"No, but the pork at the other one is off."

"Okay?" Clint quirked an eyebrow at Steve but set off across the street and into the first restaurant.

"Bring me back Dim Sum!" Tony shouted as he looked up from his phone at the disappearing Clint.

"What about my Doctor's appointment?" Steve asked Tony. "Can't be late." There was a mischievous tone to his voice that Tony knew to be wary of.

"Not late. Wong can show Barton where we are when he gets back. Let's go in." He turned to the large wooden door behind them and strode up to it and pushed it open.   
The interior of the building was as grander than Steve had expected from the outside. It had the air of a personal museum, and as Steve let his eyes wander up to the floors above him he could see sunlight glinting off glass cases.

"I was wondering when you'd show up." A male voice drifted down to them from the floors above.

"Yeah, well business and saving the world gets in the way of personal business," Tony quipped, not looking up from his phone.

"Of course it does," The voice replied. "Not that threats from other dimensions concern you. Just the ones you build in your attic."

"I don't have the slightest idea of what you're talking about." Tony stuffed his phone in his pocket and hazarded a glance at Steve. Steve could hear the chime of an answered email go off. The fluttering of fabric brought his attention to the top of the stairs. A dark haired man in a red cap came strolling down.

"Captain Rogers. I'm Doctor Stephen Strange. It's nice to meet you." The caped man extended a hand and Steve took it automatically. He blinked and dropped the hand shake.

"Doctor Strange. I get it." Steve cracked a smile and Tony bit back a laugh beside him. 

"Oh yes, it's all very witty and fitting and mystical. However, you're not here to discuss my name. Follow me upstairs, will you?" He turned on his heel and disappeared, only to reappear back at the top of the steps. Steve hastily picked his jaw up off the floor.

"Cool, huh?" Tony said from beside him. "I asked him to show me how he does it, but mister master of the mystical arts is apparently forbidden to. I'll figure it out with science. NBD."  
Steve set off up the stairs with Tony a step behind him. At the top, Strange had already set up a sitting area with an antiquated looking tea set in the middle. The three of them sat around the table, assessing each other in silence. Steve poured himself a cup of tea and sipped at it carefully. The spices made his eyes water.

"Rooibos. I blended it with fresh ginger and a hint of ground ghost pepper, along with a sundry of other things. Wong hates it, but I'm quite partial to the spiciness of it." Strange offered in explanation. Tony set his cup back down. Stephen Strange tilted his head from side to side, staring at Steve as if he was trying to decipher a Picasso. "The library was destroyed the same day I first came here. Lucky for you I read every single book in there. Unlucky for you, the only mention of a man becoming a wolf was two smudged lines in a fairy tale that roughly translated to 'DON'T DO IT'." Strange leaned back and sipped at his own tea.

"That's it?" Tony asked. "I drive all the way out here and that's all you have to give me? It's a little late, he's already gone through a transformation."

"If you'd wait just a moment-"

"We don't really have a moment here, Strange what if-"

"Sorry to interrupt, but why would a fairy tale mean anything?" Steve asked, pouring himself more tea.

"People tell stories to express morals, to encourage good behavior. Stories are entertainment and warnings at the same time. With no stories to draw from, I have no wisdom to impart on you. Before I was so rudely interrupted-" He cast a sidelong glance at Tony. "I was about to go on about the books that I did find."

"Oh well, please. Enlighten us." Tony grumbled.  
Strange made a circular motion with one hand and a small golden circle appeared. He reached through it, grasped at something, then brought his arm back through. He was holding a small stack of books.

"All the European stories, fables, and legends about werewolves that I could find. I narrowed it down further, eliminating the ones you can easily find on Wikipedia. These are what's left. Firsthand accounts, personal journals, and something written in runes. I'd ask your Asgardian friend for help with that one." He handed the books, a small pile of leather bound parchment more than anything, to Steve and stood. "We should run some tests."

***

Steve didn't know when he had started growling, but the second he noticed that the others were staring at him, he stopped. He was strapped to a table, golden instruments whirring peacefully above him. Strange was somehow in surgical scrubs and his magnificent red cloak, prodding at his scars. Clint had joined them, leaving the bags of take out in the car, and retold the story that Sam had told him, and filled in details from the trip back to New York. Tony further elaborated with the bits from before Steve had woken up in the hospital. By the time they were done telling the stories, Steve was glad to be alive and growling. Tony was currently replaying the transformation on his phone for a bald man that Steve didn't recognize.

"He still denied it after seeing that? What an idiot." The bald man said with a chuckle. Steve snarled.

"Don't mind Wong," Strange said from beside him. "He's tactless." There was a pause and he pressed against the largest part of the scar on Steve's chest. "It's a shame you weren't at my hospital. You wouldn't have these. My team knows how to suture...At least you avoided infection." he pressed along the length of the scar, still red and puckered. "Once the doo-hickey-"

"The channels of Balance and wellness" Wong corrected.

"Whatever. Once it's done balancing you, we'll know more. Though, I'm fairly certain it's safe to say you are a werewolf. The video evidence is quite strong."  
Steve snorted. "How do I stop being one. That's what I care about."

"What, you don't want to be Capwolf, the hairiest avenger?" Strange smiled down at him. He had a very reassuring presence. Steve smiled back.

"I can go back through some of the other books, maybe find something that can suppress it, but things like this, magic, it requires effort from the one afflicted. Like Star Wars. You can have helpers on the way, but no one can save the galaxy for you. That's your role, the protagonist. The hero. Break your own curse."

"Star Wars?" Steve asked. It had been on his list of things to do in the 21st century, but that list took a back seat to finding Bucky.

"I'll educate you Cap, don't worry." Tony clapped a hand on Steve's bare shoulder. 

"Movie night?" Clint asked from behind Tony.

"Movie night." Tony nodded.

They left for Manhattan shortly after, Strange's words ringing in Steve's ears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because I'm terrible at updating regularly, this Story no longer fits into the MCU timeline. I had hoped it would would follow the events in CA:tWS and tie in to the movies after, but I am a potato who writes very slowly. The threats in the attic that Strange alludes to is Ultron, but I don't think he'll make an appearance. So it will be safe to say that the future chapters will also be out of alignment with the MCU, but thank you for reading and sticking with me.
> 
> As always, comments are appreciated. I want to hear from you so much!

**Author's Note:**

> Probably gonna be a bunch of short chapters, will try and write at least a bit a day...leave comments, Let me know where I need work!!


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